


The Songbirds are Singing

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: But good stuff, F/M, Post Paperclip, it's sad stuff so sorry, that I half created, written for a tumblr challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 11:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10188716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Summary: A post episode fic for Season 3's Paperclip.





	

Her jacket falls to the chair with a muted thump, followed by the discarding of her purse and shoes. The yellowed beams of street lamps stream through her slitted blinds, offering her just enough of a glow for her to see as she pads across her living room floor to the stereo. The mixed tape Missy had made her years ago still sits rewound in the cassette player from her last impromptu visit, having been played and rewound multiple times over a few bottles of wine and stories full of laughs. 

“Ah, remember Jodi from down the street?” Missy had asked. “The one with the curly brown hair and gap in her teeth?”

“How could I forget?” Dana had said between sips of merlot. “Her boobs stole my boyfriend that summer.”

Melissa had gasped. “Oh my god, that’s right! Henry! He went around for weeks afterwards bragging about how she let him put his hand up her shirt!”

“I should have known…”

“Maybe if you would have stuffed your-”

“I was fourteen!” Dana had said with a cough, nearly choking on her wine. 

“So much drama over a B cup,” she’d said as she laughed. “You cried for weeks.”

“I’m going to need more wine.”

 

Her index finger slides along the buttons until she feels the indentations for the Play button, then presses it down. Piano begins to filter through the speakers, the light-hearted intro contrasting the sudden darkness she feels bleeding into her apartment. She gingerly lowers herself onto her couch, and mindlessly flicks on the lamp that sits nearby. 

For you, there’ll be no more crying.  
For you, the sun will be shining.  
And I feel that when I’m with you,  
It’s alright, I know it’s right.

“Sometimes I feel like we should have been twins,” Melissa had said.

Dana’s eyebrow raised, and she had laughed.

“No, seriously. Seriously, Dana, stop laughing and hear me out! You and I, it’s like we’re the same person.”

Tears had begun to trail down Dana’s face as she laughed harder. 

“Dammit, Dana, I know we’re different, but sisters have a special bond, you know,” Melissa had said, her voice echoing into the nearly empty glass of wine.

“Well, yeah,” Dana had replied, wiping her eyes. “We grew up together.”

“No, I mean, our souls are connected, intertwined, tethered together for eternity. Wherever you are, Dana, I’m there, too.”

 

From the drawer of the side table, she pulls out what’s left of a short stick of incense and the small glass holder Melissa had given her as a birthday gift years before. It feels smooth and lightweight between her fingers, it’s emerald color glimmering under the lamp. With the light of a match and the quick forced rush of her breath, the tip of the incense begins to smolder. A thin line of smoke twirls from the end gracefully, the way Melissa used spin in the center of the kitchen while pretending to be a ballerina. 

The warm musky scent of patchouli surrounds her, it’s smell tweaking the sides of her mouth into a small smile. It’s sweet undertones remind her of summer evenings from long ago, of two teenage girls listening to Fleetwood Mac’s Tusk album on repeat. It reminds her of a time when she was Dana, just Dana. 

And for a moment it feels as if Melissa is sitting right there next to her, cuddled into the far corner of the couch with her legs folded underneath her. 

To you, I’ll give the world.  
To you, I’ll never be cold.  
‘Cause I feel that when I’m with you,  
It’s alright, I know it’s right.

Melissa would roll her eyes dramatically, and inform her that patchouli was for depression, it’s properties used to help ease you from the murky depths of the prison of your own inner mind. 

“Feel the hurt and then let it go, Dana,” she would say. “Don’t hold onto it, that’s toxic. Death, no matter how sudden, isn’t an ending.”

“I know, Missy,” Dana whispers into her empty apartment as she curls herself into the opposite corner of her couch.

“Energy doesn’t vanish or die, it transfers,” she would say. “You of all people should know that, Miss Bachelors Degree in Physics. Our souls are energy; energy that’s just waiting for the right moment to transfer and bring a new form of beauty into the world.”

And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score.  
And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before.  
And I wish you all the love in the world.  
But most of all, I wish it from myself.

And, when alive, she had been that very beauty in the world. Her life was lived loudly, and without regrets or apologies. She was as vibrant as the red roses that bloomed in spring, the air about her had been exuberant and invigorating. 

Never a woman to be eclipsed into a shadow, her emanation too stunningly bright and commanding of attention, her energy affecting the incoming and retreating tides of Dana’s life from a distance. Now, even in death, her rich presence still lingers. 

Hot tears sting Dana’s eyes. “I don’t…” she whispers hoarsely, not trusting her voice to remain strong. “I don’t know how to do this alone, Missy.”

Her sister would smile, her eyes shaded with a thin veil of sadness, and then grasp her hand. “You do,” she would say, her voice encouraging. “You’re not alone, Dana.”

A sob that has been gradually building and churning in the highest part of her belly finally escapes Dana’s lips as she buries her face in her hands.

And the songbirds keep singing, like they know the score  
And I love you, I love you, I love you  
Like never before, like never before, like never before.

The last few chords of the song are interrupted by the muffled shrill of her cell phone, and Dana immediately wipes her eyes and sniffles sharply, composing herself as if the caller has just walked through the door and caught her in a vulnerable moment. She sighs heavily as the ringing persists, and shakes her head briskly, then heaves herself off of the couch, stops the tape, and crosses towards her summoning. 

“Scully,” she answers curtly.

“Hey, did I wake you?”

“Mulder?” Her brows furrow.

“The one and only,” he quips. “Well, really there are actually plenty of Mulder’s-”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she answers with a sigh.

He pauses, waiting for her to continue. When she doesn’t, he asks, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” she answers quickly, then eases herself back down to the couch. 

“Right,” he says, and she can practically see him pursing his lips. “Of course.” 

She pulls the blanket from the back of the couch and lets it tumble into a heap across her body, like the comfortable silence that has fallen between them. If she strains she can hear the slow rhythm of his breathing, and she finds herself slowing her own, matching his relaxed pace.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. She closes her eyes. 

“Hey, Scully.” His voice penetrates the quiet, it’s warmth and tenderness slowly mending the frayed edges of her heart with each syllable. She hums in response.

“Did I ever tell you the story of Kenneth Arnold?”

Her swollen eyes ache as her smile reaches her eyes. “About how he saw nine high-speed flying saucers near Mount Rainier?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She pulls the blanket to her chin, settling in deeper into the cushions of the couch. “Tell me again, Mulder.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tumblr's Txf Fic Chicks Post Ep Challenge. 
> 
> Lyrics from Songbird by Fleetwood Mac


End file.
